Sesshoumaru's ponderings
by Yuki Fuyumi
Summary: 'Strange things, those called feelings. You never truly know them.'


**Ponderings**   
  
  
Notes: Written too late at night... and a couple of years ago, when I had just read the volume where Sess meets Rin for the first time. So, there you have it. Uh, no spoilers, except for those following the Amreican version, I suppose... ;) Oh, and send me feedback! *kiss*   
  
Disclaimer: Although Sess et al are sooo kewl and cute, I don't own them. And since I'm just a poor student who can barely afford living away from home, if you sue me the kids won't get food! Uh, I mean the cats. I always mean the cats. -_-;;   
  
  
I could never admit a defeat to him. To admit such a thing would mean admitting my own weakness. I could, though, admit a defeat to many others; my father, for instance. Our father. I respected him. I don't think I do still.     When I was younger, he was the greatest youkai I had ever seen. At least that was what I thought. It didn't matter much if he really was the greatest youkai ever or not; I needed to think he was. I don't know why, but it was a securing thought.     I don't want to go soft on this, but I suppose I brought this on myself… When father came home smelling of a human female, it hurt. If he was going to take another mate, why would he, of all things, choose a human one? That was when I lost the vision of him being the most powerful youkai I had ever met. The respect that had once been there was suddenly gone, but still it hurt when he brought her home. It was as if she was a trophy-wife, while my mother had just been a good lay.     She treated me nicely, though, this new mother. Even after she had given birth to what is now my half-brother she treated me as if I was her son as much as my brother is. Somehow, that only made things worse. It would have been fine if she had just treated me as nothing, ignored me, much as my father did more and more often. I didn't really want to care, but I did.     Strange things, those called feelings. You never truly know them. When you think you should be angry, you're just sad and when you think you're happy you're happy for the wrong reasons. I never wanted to care about this new family of mine, but somehow I did. Why is beyond even me. It doesn't bother me. Much.     I don't really know much about my mother, or what she used to be like. I've forgotten, probably, or I was just too young to make any real memories then. It is hard to remember things from when you were very little, and sometimes you say that "I remember that" but it is just words you remember, others' memories that have been told to you so many times that you think they are your own. It's like that with my mother. I cannot remember her, but I've been told she was over-confident and hot-tempered. My father never told me anything about her, and the servants were forbidden to speak of her. What I know is what my nursemaid told me before she died of age.     Not knowing much about our mothers is something that is me and my brother alike. Of course, he can still remember what she looked like, perhaps what her voice sounded like, what her name was. Memories I envy him, for sometimes I fear that my mother was the only one to truly cared for me and I cannot remember anything about her. Father never truly did care. I suppose he just cared for me because he had no other child than me to pass on his belongings to. It has always felt strange to be "necessary" and nothing more in my father's life. When I was little we could play for hours, but as I grew older he hardly had the time to even eat at the same time as I did and when I tried to eat at the same time as him he told me he had already eaten. Or that he was too tired, or whatever else. All of them were excuses, of course, not to see me. Strange, the feeling of being pushed away.     I don't think I know much about father, either. I thought I did, but apparently I did not. He told me he would let his powers be my inheritance, but yet I have not inherited any such thing. My half-brother got what I wanted most; something of father. I don't know how highly he cherishes it, but I am sure that he can never cherish it as I would. I don't want the stupid sword for its power, even though that is what most think. I can't use it, even. Not like this. I don't want to use it, either, any longer. I wanted to, at first, but as I realized that it was truly not for me, I think I have lost the want for it.     When my half-brother was born, father feared his youkai blood. I never truly understood why, until lately. It scared even me. Father decided to seal away my younger brother's youkai blood to such a level that he would still have a bit youkai in him, but not enough to be truly as youkai as he was born to be.     I was told that when I was born, father had feared what he saw in my younger brother, and had my own powers sealed away before he knew what they were. I wonder still if he would have let me keep them if he knew what they are. For, the only inheritance my brother got was the sword, which proved to be the container of his youkai blood. What if the sword I inherited proves to be the container of my true powers? Strange, I would say. For, the sword is a healing one. And I am not a healing personality.     It was a strange sensation, being scared, frightened. I can only recall one time that I have truly been scared before, and that was long ago. Father always scared me when I had broken a rule. I am not one to follow rules but I was forced to when he still lived. I was never frightened until one day I insulted his new wife, earning a hard slap in the face. As father growled at me never to say such a thing again I was terrified. I never opposed him again after that. I never dared.     There's a saying that goes; "Everyone has their overlord." We often shake our heads at that for it seems foolish. I know now that it isn't. Father was mine in many ways. Now, though, he is dead. I wonder when I will meet my overlord once again.     I cannot read minds, even though I wish some times that I could. To judge of my brother's partly hidden face, I did not need to be able to read minds. I could sense it, almost smell the strange joy filling him. As if he was just… glad. For nothing. No other feelings, not hate, anger, hurt, pain, worry, fear, nothing. Just plain joy. Of what? I don't know, and that is what scared me. For once, I could not read his intentions by just seeing his face. He has always been like an open book to me. And suddenly he was not. The sudden change that had been brought about in his demeanor was what frightened me. No one knows, though. I haven't let anyone know, nor will I. I know that I am cold, always acting uncaring, but this was not like that. That sort of coldness I have seen in many youkai, but the joy expressed in my half-brother's face was not of the kind. I have never seen anything like it, nor do I wish to see it again. Yet, I am curious.     When he was little, things between us were different from now. What truly brought us apart was how father treated us as if we were of different values to him. This acted mostly to my half-brother's favor. Seeing those three, father, stepmother and little brother, together was a strange thing. Those three were a family of their own; a family in which I had no place. It hurt, of course, I am not completely without feelings, but what does it matter? I was a part of a life my father had left behind upon finding himself a new mate. Dogs are not like wolves that choose one mate and never take another.     I suppose another reason for him to rather like my little brother is that I resemble my mother more than my father. Even though I have rarely been told so, I can figure as much on my own as I have hardly any similarities to my father. The ones that truly say that I am his son are the stripes on my cheeks and the color of my hair. The rest is of my mother, for even though it is a tease I do not have as square a face as my brother and father, nor have I got as broad a frame and my hands are shapely, not at all like father's. Some say I am, more or less, effeminate - a comment I do not enjoy hearing. For even if I look female I do not seek to be female.     Maybe I am the one who did something, and now I'm blaming my own mistakes on my father. Of course, it is not his fault I dislike humans; that is a story not fit in here, I am afraid. Though, all too often I find myself pondering what happened. It was nothing I could do, really, though I still tell myself that maybe… I literally hate myself when I find that I cannot help a situation. I strongly dislike not being in charge of what is happening, but only being able to follow under another's lead. I suppose both my brother and me got the weakness for humans from father. My first love was a human girl, though she died before I truly knew her. Yes, strange as it might sound, I know of love. But where there is love there is hate, for just as good and evil, right and wrong, they cannot exist on their own. To make a long story short; the female who I had chosen as my mate, was killed by humans. Both her and the child she was carrying. Our child. It's as simple as that, really. Ever since I have distinctly disliked humans. Some say it is for no apparent reason, but it goes deeper than that.     On my father's deathbed he made me promise that I would care for my brother and his mother until my brother could take care of himself. I suppose that when I had taken that promise he relaxed considerably, and for some time it looked like he was going to continue living. I even got him to tell me what he least wanted to leave behind. The answer was my half-brother's mother. It turned out that my mother had only been a good mate when it came to having a strong offspring that would be able to survive should it have to. Upon finding that out I never spoke to him again for the rest of his life. It hurt too much to know that while I was the son of a potential mate, my younger brother was born from the love of father and my stepmother.     I suppose that is also the reason as to why I dislike my younger brother. I envy him for being loved by both his father and mother, while I was not. Childish, perhaps, but I do not really care much what you think. I couldn't care less what anybody else thinks. It's my life and my feelings, even if I do not truly know them that well. I will do with my life whatever I wish.     Since my half-brother was born I have had this sickening want to have such a family of my own, somewhere to belong, I suppose. Upon seeing those three I always felt left out, partly because that was somehow their family, and not mine, partly because I could not recall being as close to my parents. I suppose many wonder about this human girl, Rin, and why I even bothered to revive her, taking her into my care. If you ask me, it was that want screaming in the back of my head that I might as well take the chance. And why not? She cared for me, something not many have, and I felt a need to repay her for that. She is much like me, when you think about it. Both of us were left to ourselves, choosing solitude for ourselves, not for anyone else. I felt a need to spare her of what I had gone through, and here I am now, with a young girl to care for. I suppose I didn't really know what I was getting into at the time, but in my own thoughts I enjoy seeing her happy and content with life. I enjoy spoiling her and lately I have found that I care for her as if she is the daughter I lost and know now that I will never have. Can never have. For even if I should find a mate it would never be the same as that one great love we all encounter once in a lifetime.     I know I will not let this hate for my half-brother rest until I have come to a settlement. I need to know what it is about him that I do not have. I want to know what it is that makes him better than me, what differed us in father's eyes. What made him love my brother more than he loved me. What made him love my younger brother at all. Why he could ignore me like he did, what made him dislike me so much. Answers my younger brother does not know, questions he doesn't know I have. Answers I need to find, things I need to know. And if he cannot help me find them I will rid myself of the problem by either killing him, or myself. I guess I'm too proud, though, to kill myself, but he is strong enough to kill me should I let him. Either way I need to rid myself of these questions, for I fear that if I do not lose them, I will lose my sanity. And without my sanity, what will I be? Nothing. Not a match even for him, and in the end the result would be the same: I would end up dead. Perhaps that is the only way for me to get rid of those things, those thoughts that are nagging at the back of my head. Death. Sanctity.     Strange things, those called feelings. You never truly know them. 


End file.
